Page 194 of The Circle of Exile
She had not brought it up again, simply because he smiled less when the topic of his work was opened. He smiled less in general. And when he did, she would feel her heart skip beats like a new lover. It reminded her of a time when she had seen him smile,reallysmile that illegal smile for the first time. Those butterflies of first love were now Telly Tubbies in her belly, tumbling down every time he played with Yathaarth.
He would smile and laugh the most with Yathaarth, playing with him in the sloped garden of the bungalow. They would tumble down the grassy stretch like a pair of Telly Tubbies and he would always, always, always push him to go on his own but keep himself below him to catch his head and body safely.
Atharva hadn’t proactively enjoyed his grandfather’s records in months. But he would put them on for Yathaarth. In the observatory — during mealtimes or after meltdowns or just because it was Yathaarth’s nap time and he needed something soothing, Atharva would pick one of his lullabies from his Dadi or a slow 40s Hemant Kumar vinyl and put his son to sleep on a small mattress bed unfurled in the middle of the room. That space had become a haven — for Yathaarth’s nap times, for Atharva’s escape, and for her observation — of Shimla’s beauty as well as her boys in their element.
Atharva sometimes did come into his element too.
He would sit with Daniyal and have long conversations on the bench outside the house, he would banter with Noora, he would make his secret recipe Maggie dinner for the entire household. He would laugh with her, tease her now and then, be completely hers when they were by themselves. But every time she proposed they do something out of the house — like go to a cafe and try the famous sourdough pizza with french fries, or take a walk down the market or visit the Christ Church at the hour of sunset, he would find something else to do.
Like right now.
She had asked him to come shopping with her down to the store to get kulfi sticks for their dinner party. He had softly nudged her to take Shiva along, citing research work. Iram knew he did a lot of that lately. She also knew that most of that work was staring glassily at his iPad.
“Hiiiieee!”
She glanced up from pushing Yathaarth’s stroller up the slope of their house. Amaal was standing at the gate, hands folded together, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“You are early!” Iram grinned, quickening her pace, pushing a lot of weight up the hill — a ten-kg baby boy who was suddenly craning up and wiggling from his stroller, two kgs of tomatoes, a litre of milk and a bag of kulfi sticks hanging from the handlebars. She needn’t have worried because Amaal was already running downhill, jumping. Iram began to hold out some bags when she reached inside and unbuckled the baby.
“Ooooh!” She picked Yathaarth up. “You are heavy, and so balanced!” She bounced him in her arms, bringing him close to her face — “Remember me?”
Yathaarth grinned, holding her face with his palms like he held it on their video calls.
“He thinks you are my phone screen,” Iram supplied. “And thanks for the help.”
“I took the heaviest load,” she swung him expertly on her hip now that Yathaarth balanced himself like a pro. Iram pushed the stroller, walking her up.
“I am so happy right now you can’t imagine,” Amaal pressed her mouth to Yathaarth’s cheek and held it there. “He smells so good. Seeing you… it’s like Srinagar wasn’t Srinagar and here it is Srinagar.”
Iram laughed — “You have just seen me and Arth. Wait till you see the troop inside…”
“I saw them. All of them except Janab.”
“Where is Atharva?”
“Doing some work upstairs. Your observatory, I am assuming…” Amaal cuddled Yathaarth closer as they crossed the gate. “How is he?”
“He is good.”
“I talk to you all the time. But with him, it’s… unless there’s a work-related conversation…”
“He is being mindful of keeping his distance, Amaal. You are the Press Secretary of Qureshi. It doesn’t look good.”
“I know. But I am his friend too.”
Iram didn’t have an answer to that. She knew he was consciously keeping his distance from Qureshi, Sarah, Samar, and hence, Amaal by extension. The only calls she saw regularly on his phone were from Adil and Zorji. Even they had dwindled in frequency lately. It was like everybody had moved on in their lives. After all, who stopped their lives for you?
“Where is Samar?” Iram inquired, changing the topic.
“He was in Solan this afternoon. He should be here any time.”
“How is that going? He spends time between Srinagar and Himachal. You are busy every day of the week with this rare Sunday off. Are you both planning to…” she trailed.
“Planning to what?”
“Think about marriage?”
Amaal shook her head. It wasn't a coy shaking of head. It was a solemn shaking of head. A decisive one.
